“Hi,” I say.
“Morning.”
“You been up long?”
“A couple of hours…”
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“I know you wanted an early start, but it didn’t feel right to barge into your room to wake you, so I worked out a little instead.”
A glorious image of him doing pushups and crunches bare chested is now permanently ingrained in my brain. And of course he’d be the kind of person who wakes up early on a Saturday to work out. A body like that just doesn’t sculpt itself. I think of my soft belly and take back everything I just thought. Early risers are horrible people whose mission in life is to make us late sleepers feel guilty about our love for cushy pillows and snuggles under the comforter.
“No, you’re right,” I say. “I should’ve set an alarm… What do you say we go out for breakfast?” I stare at my watch. “It’s too late to go shopping now, anyway. We can eat something and lay down the basis of our fake relationship instead.”
“Yeah, I’m starving.”
“Great, just give me time for a quick shower. Meet here in thirty?”
He winks at me. “All right, boss.”
My stomach responds with a weird little flip. Maybe it wasn’t the wink. Right, I’m probably just hungry.
We switch ends in the narrow hall, and I do my best to stick to the wall and not give in to the temptation to brush against all that bared muscle. Obstacle surpassed, I dive into the bathroom and hop into the shower.
One perk of short hair is that it takes less time to dry. So, in just under thirty minutes I’m all set and ready to go grab a coffee. Clad in black trousers and a gray knit sweater, casual-wear appropriate for the office, I go meet Diego down the hall and stop dead in my tracks again. Dressed Diego is no less heart-stopping than half-naked Diego. He’s wearing a pair of light-faded jeans that fit his rear side so well they should be made illegal. And his biker jacket does nothing to tone down the sexiness. My mouth goes a little dry—too much sex appeal to handle on an empty stomach and without an ounce of caffeine in my system. I need breakfast.
We opt for the Starbucks around the corner. I order my usual skinny mocha vanilla latte and note that he goes for black coffee, super manly. As for food, we both get glazed donuts. At least he’s not also one of those protein bars, healthy-eater types. I mean, nothing wrong with keeping a healthy diet and exercise routine, but I can’t stand extremists. Julia sort of is a food extremist, but of course, I still love her. She’s my sister; I have to.
“You always get black coffee?” I ask, as we sit at a table by the window.
“No, sometimes I venture into the wild lands of cappuccinos. Why?”
“Just trying to learn your habits. We should know these things about each other since we’re”—I make air quotes—“dating. Skinny mocha vanilla lattes are my poison, and I prefer Starbucks.”
“So you order fat-free milk, but a side of glazed, fried pastry is okay?”
I shrug. “Coffee tastes as good without the fatty milk and sugary syrup. Can’t say the same about donuts.” And to show my appreciation, I take a huge bite.
Diego smiles. “Duly noted.” He rolls his coffee cup between his hands a few times, turning pensive.
“What?” I prompt him.
“Can I ask you one last time why you’re doing this?”
“I already told—”
“Yeah, you need a date for the holidays. But… can I be honest?”
“Sure.”
“Before getting to know you, I thought you had to have a major issue that scared men away or something, but spending the last few days together, you don’t seem that…”
“Crazy?” I supply. “Well, thanks,” I say, irritated.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to insult you. I only want to understand why a woman like you needs to hire someone to be her date.”
My nostrils flare. “And by ‘a woman like me’ you mean?”
“Beautiful, smart, with a successful career, and with no clear social awkwardness… You shouldn’t have any problems finding a man the traditional way.”
That mollifies me a little… Did he really call me beautiful? I stop myself from asking for confirmation and answer his question instead. “The problem isn’t that I can’t find a boyfriend ever. It’s that I’m single right now while my baby sister just got engaged, and that’s going to point an even bigger bullseye on the lack of that diamond ring on my finger. And this year, I can’t bear it.” I leave out the why. “Also, I don’t want to be in a relationship for the sake of dating, and my job makes it hard to put in the time to find that special person.”
And being in love with my sister’s fiancé doesn’t help, I add in my head.
“So you prefer to hire your dates off a catalog.” Diego tries to keep a straight face, but the corners of his mouth twitch.
“Now you’re just making fun of me.”
He finally lets the smile take over his mouth, and gosh if he isn’t a sight to behold when he smiles like that. “Sorry. I thought my mom was scary with her constant nagging about me needing to settle down, but you make your family sound so much worse…”
“They are, believe me, and that’s why we need to be prepared if we want to fool them.”
“Okay, so what’s the story?”
“Let’s start easy. Our first date, how did it happen?”
“We met in a bar?”
“Nah, too prosaic. We should stick to reality as much as we can, like they teach in spy movies.”
“What’s your angle here? We can’t say you picked me off a catalog.”
My time to smirk. “Actually, we sort of can…”
“How?”
“You came to the agency for a casting, and that’s where we met.”
“And how did we move from the casting to the dating?”
“Ah, and the plot thickens… Any ideas?”
He frowns, concentrating. “You called me to say I had the job, and I told you I’d rather have a date.”
“That sounds farfetched.”
“Why?”
“Would you really have asked someone like me on a date?”
“And by ‘someone like you,’ you mean?”
“Someone who wouldn’t look at home in a bikini catalog,” I reply honestly.
He grimaces. “Ah, yes. Because we models can only date other models…”
“No, but…”
“But?”
“You’re good looking, you know?”
Diego nods, serious, not one bit mollified.
“Above-average good looking…” I insist.
He nods again.
“So, it’d make sense you’d want to date someone as gorgeous as you.”
“Why?”
“Because you can. Because why not?”
“Maybe because before I jump into bed with someone, I need a bit more of a connection. I’m not a horny teenager,” he says harshly.
“Sorry, did I offend you?”
“Not really, I have thick skin. But don’t assume I decide who to sleep with based only on how they look. Last time I slept with a woman only because she had a big rack, I was eighteen and in high school. So, when was the last time you slept with someone only because they had a nice ass?”
Totally against my will, an image of his perfectly round buns wrapped in white boxer briefs slips before my eyes. Those are buttocks that could definitely make me skip the need for an emotional connection.
I swallow, hoping I’m not blushing too hard. “I haven’t… I mean… not really.” At my visible embarrassment, his features soften a little. “Okay,” I concede. “You’ve made your point. I won’t make superficial assumptions about you from now on. Sorry.”
He finally smiles. “Apology accepted, boss.”
I try to bring the conversation back to its original track. “So, you asked me on a date. Why?”
“Wha
t do you mean, why?”
“What made you give up a job for me? If we tell that story, either my mom or my sister is going to ask why you were instantly smitten with me.”
“Why? They can’t accept a man could just ask you out?”
“We’re women, we need details.”
“Okay, I’ll have an answer for when they ask.”
“Can’t you share it with me first?”
“No,” he says, smirking. “It isn’t ready yet.”
I scowl at him.
“Don’t worry.” Diego leans forward in his chair. “I’ll come up with something cheesy enough to sate your mom and sister’s romance cravings.”
I stare at him, unconvinced.
“Hey, I’m good at this stuff, I swear.” He makes the Boy Scout salute.
I sure hope he is, with what I’m paying him. And if it turns out he sucks, I hope Mom and Julia will be too distracted by how good he looks to notice.
“Okay,” I say. “I’m going to trust you on this. Oh, one last detail: What was the ad for?”
“Deodorant,” Diego says without hesitation.
“Deodorant?”
“Yeah, what’s wrong with it?”
“It isn’t very romantic.”
“We can say perfume or chocolate if you prefer, but deodorant makes it sound less staged, more real.”
He has a point. “Deodorant it is.”
An email flashes on my phone screen, and I get a peek of the time as well. “Wow, it’s super late. Don’t you have to be at the mall in like twenty minutes?”
He stares at his watch. “You’re right.”
We both get up, don our jackets, and exit the coffee shop in a hurry. It doesn’t take long to be back at my building, where we stop outside to say goodbye.
“The subway is that way,” I say. “I hope I haven’t made you too late?”
“Nah, don’t worry,” Diego says, “it’s only a ten-minute ride on the bike.” He unlocks the saddle to take out his helmet. Then, as if on second thought, he adds, “Hey, you want a ride? Your office is on the way.”
“No, no, you’re already late, I don’t want to make it worse.”
“And you won’t; we have all the time we need.”
“I don’t have a helmet,” I protest.
“And I always carry a spare one.” He opens a sort of detachable trunk and offers me a black helmet matching his.
“Err…”
When he sees me still hesitating, he asks, “You’re not afraid of bikes, are you?”
“I wouldn’t know,” I say. “I’ve never been on one.”
“Come on.” Diego smiles encouragingly. “No girlfriend of mine, fake or otherwise, could skip a ride on my bike.”
I quickly censor all the inappropriate scenarios my degenerate brain conjured up at the “take a ride on my bike” comment, and bravely nod, taking the helmet.
Eight
Sleigh Ride
The moment I climb on the bike behind Diego, I know I’ve made a mistake. This black monster is way too wobbly and unstable for my tastes.
At first, I try to keep my palms respectfully flat against Diego’s sides while he backs the bike up. But the second he twists the accelerator, I wrap my arms around his waist as tightly as I can, my gloved fingers gripping his leather jacket for dear life. Especially when the bike stumbles off the curb with a roar of the engine, tires skidding on the road. The rumble is deafening; it vibrates up my legs to reach deep into my guts. I close my eyes, glue my head—helmet and all—to his broad back, and hope this ride will really only take ten minutes.
Diego works the clutches, making the bike gather speed, and I can’t help but grip tighter as a little scream escapes my lips. Diego’s chest starts to shake under my arms, and I have a strong suspicion he’s laughing at me and my fear.
I couldn’t care less. Right now, I’m focused on surviving the ride and getting off this death trap as soon as possible. Honestly, I don’t understand how other women can find this sexy. Okay, I get the intimacy—physical, for how close the bodies touch, and emotional, for the trust one has to put in the driver to give away all control. And some women might like not being in control, or find the drop in their stomach at every acceleration thrilling, but I’m not one of them.
For the whole journey, I’m so pumped up with adrenaline I don’t notice the chill. I’m sure riding a bike in December should feel colder than this, but right now my universe is made only of Diego’s body and how hard I can cling to him. My chest is pressed so close to his back we might’ve been fused.
Every turn, incline, and acceleration makes my heart pound faster. If this is what flying feels like, I’m glad humans were born without wings.
When we finally stop, I still hold onto him and keep my eyelids closed. It could be only a traffic light, and if I open my eyes now, I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle the rest of the ride.
“Boss.” Diego tries to turn back to look at me, but I’m holding on too tight. “We’re here.”
I’m still too scared to move.
“Nikki?” Diego calls again. “You can let go now.”
Slowly, I release my koala grip on him and get off. I unhook my helmet and hand it to him, saying, “Let’s never do this again.”
“Don’t say never, boss.” Diego grins at me from underneath the helmet. I can tell he’s smiling from the crinkles around his eyes. “It might grow on you…”
And with that he winks at me, pushes down on a pedal to revive the engine, opens the clutches, and disappears among the Manhattan traffic, leaving me standing on the curb in front of my building with legs still shaky from the sheer effort of pressing my thighs against his.
***
“I should buy you something for the bike,” I say.
It’s Sunday morning, and Diego and I are braving the holiday crowds to complete our Christmas shopping. I’ve already settled Julia with the fanciest wedding planner I could find in the mall’s bookstore, Mom with a new recipe book, and Dad with the latest Ken Follett bestseller. Not the most original or thought-out presents, I’m aware, but I despise gift shopping.
I may or may not have also bought a novel for Paul a while ago. At the time, I wasn’t even sure if I’d ever give it to him. But if he’s going to spend the holidays at our house… I sort of have to. And, I mean, it’s not like a thriller book—hardcover, special edition, signed by his favorite author—will send the message, “I’m in love with you. Dump my sister and marry me instead.” Right?
“You need any new accessories?” I continue. “Gloves?” I couldn’t help but notice his are a little worn out.
“Biker gear is expensive.” Diego shrugs. “Why not get me a book like everybody else?”
“No, you’re my boyfriend. I need to buy you something different, something special. You know a good biker gear shop?”
“There’s one closer to your apartment; we can stop there on the way home.”
“All right.”
“We can go after buying my present for you. Have you decided what I’m getting you yet?”
I chew my lower lip. “I don’t know.”
Diego raises his brows. “A woman who can’t choose her present. Impossible!”
“The best thing would be to get me a book. Or a cat. But I can’t do the cat until Blair moves out, and it needs to be something showier than a book to impress my family.”
“Remember, I’m a struggling artist.” Diego grins.
“That’s why we have to find a nice, thoughtful, but inexpensive gift.” I stare at the shopping windows surrounding us, kind of lost. “See the problem now?”
Just as the words leave my lips, we pass in front of a jewelry shop, and I’m captivated by a glass cube showcasing three rings, identical but for the color: one in silver, one in gold, and the last one in rose gold. The design is simple: plain gold bands, but… with ears!
“See something you like?” Diego asks.
/> I smile, pushing the shop’s door open. “How about a cat ring?”
A girl in a bright-red suit hurries up to us, making me wonder if she’s wearing a special holiday suit or if they go ’round all year long wearing that almost blinding shade of red.
“Hello, how may I help you today?” She has a chirpy, honey-like voice, which fits the festive-bonanza décor of the shop perfectly.
“We’re here to buy a ring,” I say.
“A ring, how wonderful.” She twinkles at me. “Christmas present?” Her big, it’s-that-time-of-the-year, sparkly eyes set on Diego next.
Err… She thinks we’re a real couple Christmas shopping. Well, why wouldn’t she?
I glance at Diego for help—but he’s staring around the shop, completely unaware. And there’s no way I’m launching into the whole story of how Diego is only a for-hire boyfriend in front of a bunch of strangers—there are three shop assistants in total, all in eye-sore red.
“Yeah.” I smile awkwardly. “It’s a gift, I mean, sort of—”
“That’s wonderful! I’m Evelyn, and I’ll be happy to assist you today,” Evelyn chirps. “Did you already have something specific in mind?”
“Yes,” I say. “The cat rings by the windows.”
“Oh.” Another one of the girls in red sighs. “They’re so cute, aren’t they?”
“Goodness.” Evelyn takes my arm, steering me toward the showcase window, and leans in, lowering her voice to speak in a girl-to-girl tone. “The girls and I have a little contest every holiday season to find the cutest couple, and you’ve just knocked all competition out of the park! He’s quite the catch. Lucky you!”
I should be proud of the admiration Diego is inspiring. After all, I’ve hired him to make sure my whole family shuts the hell up about my singlehood for one Christmas. But this is actually painful. What do I say?
“Err, thank you?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” Evelyn says charmingly as she unhooks a bunch of keys from her neck and uses a tiny silver one to open the back of the glass cube displaying the cat rings.
A Christmas Date Page 7
